Page 12 of Problematic Summer Romance

“There isn’t much to spill. Eli knows, but also he doesn’t? When I moved back from Scotland I started openly lusting after Conor in front of Eli…more or less jokingly.”

“Less, I’m guessing.”

“I’d tell him stuff like…‘Oh, I noticed Hark’s cute after all.’ ‘Did you see how good he looked in the red tie?’ That kind of stuff.Of course, Eli did not want to hear any of it. That was ninety percent of the fun. But he never knew…”How deep it ran, I can’t bring myself to finish.

“So, is Eli the problem? If anything happened, would he go apeshit?Bro, you’re doing my little sister, I’m gonna have to kill you now.”

“What an excellent impression. But I doubt it. And by now, he thinks I’m over it.”

“Then, if it’s not Eli, what’s stopping you from fucking Hark?”

“He…is older, for one.”

“And that is an issue, because…?”

“Good question.” Validating, too. I massage my temple. “Apparently, age gaps are highly morally objectionable.”

She waves a hand. “Seems like a sweeping generalization. Sure, some are. But you’re an adult. There’s nothing wrong with having a little problematic summer fling. Especially if you walk into it with open eyes.”

“According to Conor, there is. Something wrong, that is.”

“Hang on. Does Hark know you’re into him?”

“He…” I sigh.

“Let me rephrase. Does he know you as anything more than Eli’s sister? Have you ever had a single private conversation with Conor Harkness?” She must see something on my face, because she settles more comfortably against the cushions, and I…

I tell her everything.

Chapter 6

Three years, two months, three weeks earlier

Edinburgh, Scotland

I’ve been sobbing for forty-five minutes—grotesque, phlegmy, shoulder-quaking heaves—when it occurs to me that thereissomeone I could call.

My older brother.

Eli is by no means my first choice. He is, in fact, so far down the list, I don’t even consider him until a blond tourist walks past me in a navy blue Penn State shirt. She briefly glances at me before turning to her boyfriend, no doubt to exchange aWhat the fuck is wrong with the raccoon-eyed girlie covered in snot sitting in St. Andrews Square Garden at sunset?look.

I glare resentfully at the way the two hold hands, picture throwing a knife at her back, and that’s when the letters string together to form something with meaning.

Penn State Field Hockey Team.

Field Hockey.

Hockey.

Eli.

As far as free associations go, it’s pretty weak—my brother used to play the ice variety of the sport—but who cares? It reminds me that I’m not completely alone on this shitty little rock of a planet. The last of the daylight may be slipping away, but someone exists who is related to me by blood. Our shared genes might compel him to pick up the phone. Or even just the fact that I’m calling him for the first time since I was back in Texas for the summer holidays. Last year.

Conversations with my brother—not my most beloved pastime. But beggars can’t choose shit, and I haven’t given myself much of an alternative, in the four years since I moved to Scotland. I barely kept in touch with my Austin friends—from high school, from figure skating, from those grief groups I was forced to attend once every two weeks.New country,I thought, determined to leave behind the bullshit of my teenage years.New social circle that will not see me as a bereaved, defective human.It made so much sense, especially after I met Rose on the first day of S1.

“Excuse me,”she asked after tapping my back.“How comfortable are you with me touching your arse?”

I glanced behind me. Took in a beautiful, upturned nose and bottle green eyes. “Not very.”

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